


Epilogue

by snarkydarkling



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: AKA THE EPILOGUE WE ALL DESERVED, F/M, alina finally gets her happy ending, babies ever after, contains excess amounts of sodium, get rekt mal (again), the darkling saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkydarkling/pseuds/snarkydarkling
Summary: A salty re-write of the R&R epilogue.





	

THE BOY AND THE GIRL had both known loss, and their grief did not leave them. Sometimes he would find her standing by a window, fingers playing in the beams of sunlight that streamed through the glass, or sitting on the front steps of the orphanage, staring at the stump of the oak next to the drive. Then he would go to her, draw her close, and lead her to the shores of Trivka’s pond, where the insects buzzed and the grass grew high and sweet, where old wounds might be forgotten.

The boy found it easy to forget. The girl was different.

Their friends who survived the war had moved on. The pirate prince became king. The sharp-tongued Squaller joined the Grisha Triumvirate along with the bespectacled boy who liked to tinker and the red-headed girl who still turned heads. The girl would watch them when they came to visit and wonder if her entire life had simply been a dream.

She who had once been nobody had become a soldier, a summoner, a living saint, and was now living as nobody again. She who had once lived at the Kermazin orphanage had lived at the Little Palace, at the White Cathedral, at the Spinning Wheel, and was now living at the Kermazin orphanage again. She who had danced at the Grand Palace, who had held the fury of the sun in her hands, who had sailed on flying ships and hunted dragons was now standing barefoot, painting her memories on the bannister of the stairs so she wouldn’t forget; so she could remind herself it hadn’t been a dream after all.

The days were easy. The girl would spend her time, travelling the halls of the orphanage in search of a blank wall or ceiling on which to paint her adventures. The staff never approved, but she ignored their whispers and glares. They complained she always smelled of paint, that she wore her hair down like an unmarried woman, that she filled the children’s heads with nonsense stories about magical stags and birds who rose on wings of flame. She had to tell the stories so she wouldn’t forget; so she could remind herself it hadn’t all been a dream after all.

Even when she didn’t paint, the days were too full for mourning. There were classes to teach, meals to prepare, letters to write. When evening fell, the boy would bring the girl a glass of tea, a slice of lemon cake, an apple blossom floating in a blue cup. He would kiss her neck and whisper new names in her ear: beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart. And the girl would drink the tea for his sake, eat the cake for his sake, and smile for his sake.

He had given his life to be with her but she had given herself.

The nights were hard. Sometimes when her husband wasn’t looking, she would take out an emerald ring and put it on her finger, watch it change colour in the candlelight. She who could have married a King in a cathedral in a golden dress with crowds of people to adore her and parade her through the town and hold feasts in her honour had settled for marrying the boy in a chapel by the sea with not even a _kokochnik_ to cover her hair and with only an orphan boy and an orange cat as witnesses. She had to wear the ring from time to time so she wouldn’t forget; so she could remind herself it hadn’t all been a dream after all.

Hadn’t he told her? Hadn’t he given her chance after chance? If she closed her eyes, she could still picture him with his golden hair and warm hazel eyes, with that infectious smile. How handsome he had been then. How kind. How scarred his hands had been when he’d pressed the emerald ring in her palm, saying, _Take it out and gaze at it longingly when you think of the handsome prince you might have made your own._

Time had turned the harmless joke into a harsh insult.

The boy would hold her close while he slept but his grip was always too tight. The moonlight would spill in through the window, making strange shadows play in the corner of the room. That was when _he_ haunted her: the pale prince with eyes like steel and words that cut deeper than any wound she had ever received. She could hear his words playing in her mind over and over and over again like the ringing of a death knell: _I've given you power beyond all dreaming, and you can't wait to run off and keep house for your tracker._

She searched for that tether that connected them but could not find it. For the first time, she understood his loneliness, the ache of it, the burden of eternity he carried so regally on his broad shoulders. Hadn’t he warned her? Hadn’t he given her chance after chance? When she closed her eyes, she dreaded sleep. When she slept, she dreaded dreams. When she dreamt, she dreaded waking up to find her life was real; that everything that had happened from the moment she had rejected the prince’s proposal hadn’t all been a nightmare after all.

The girl knew, deep down, that when she had driven the knife through the Darkling’s heart, she had driven it through her own as well.

And so she turned her head to the pillow and wept silently as the boy slept on.

* * *

 

Sometimes Alina felt like she had never left the White Cathedral. Perhaps she had never escaped those dark and twisting tunnels. Perhaps she had never learned to get her powers back and she’d died in some damp, mouldy corner and this was hell.

Yes, she had wanted this life at one point. Back when she’d been young and foolish and had never even seen the inside of a coach before. But she was a woman now, not some lovesick girl who had never tasted power or war. She watched her friends from a distance as they rose in rank and influence as she seemed to disappear into the walls of the orphanage with each passing day. Soon, the servants of the house would be calling her _malenchka_ , little ghost. Her life had a cruel sense of irony.

As she lay in bed, fingers playing in streams of sunlight, she felt the mattress shift beside her. She turned her head and nearly fell out of the bed.

“Mal! What are you doing here? I didn’t even hear you come in!”

There was something different about her husband then. He lay on his side, head propped up by his elbows, his face set into a hard, serious expression. His blue eyes, usually so clear and bright, seemed oddly darkened somehow.

He studied her for a moment, eyes sweeping down the planes of her face, the knots in her white hair, and his mouth curved more deeply in concern. Alina’s heart began to pound. She knew every single expression that crossed her husband’s features but the look he was giving her now was one she had never seen before. He seemed like a stranger.

“You were distracted,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically smooth.

“You’re…acting very strange,” she commented, tearing her eyes away from his hypnotic gaze.

“Am I?” A smile tugged at his lips but it was not the sort of smile she was used to. It was not charming or sweet. It reminded her of someone else.

“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were on a hunting trip. You said you’d be gone for two days at least.”

Anger flashed in his eyes for a second but the next moment it was gone, as quick as it came. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers ever so slightly brushing against her cheek. She shivered.

“I came back for you, Alina.”

Before she knew it, he was kissing her, gentle at first, but then his mouth became hungry and greedy, his tongue seeking hers. She’d been kissed by Mal a thousand times now but this kiss was nothing like that. It was demanding, possessive, confident. She arched her neck as he deepened the kiss and buried one hand in her hair. Her heart raced wildly as she felt him reach down and lift the skirt of her dress, fingers closing around her bare thigh. Her whole body came alive for the first time in years. The last time she could even remember a kiss doing this to her was----

She pulled away, shaking the memory of the Darkling from her head.

“What...what are you doing, Mal?”

A thrill of panic shot through her as his hands wandered higher, squeezing her backside. He was touching her in ways he’d never touched her before.

“Can’t a man make love to his wife?”

She swallowed. “Have you been drinking?”

She knew he was sober. She couldn’t smell any alcohol on his lips but she could think of nothing else to explain the change in his behaviour.

The corners of his lips quirked. He didn’t answer her question. Instead he hooked a hand under her leg and slipped between her thighs. Her hands wrapped around her jaw, her neck, her collarbones.

“Alina,” he murmured softly. “My Alina.”  

* * *

 

He was gone in the morning but Alina didn’t know where. She lay in the mess of tangled sheets, a giddy feeling in her chest. Yes, she had slept with Mal again but this time had been different. This time had been magical. This time, she had wanted it just as much as he did.

In fact, she had wanted it so much, she had forgotten to tell him to take the contraceptive tonic they always drank before and after intercourse. Alina was always the responsible one since Mal was never in the right state of mind to remember those sorts of things. But last night, she’d been too caught up in her own desire to remember. She rested against the pillows, feeling sore but satisfied for the first time in years.

When Mal returned three days later, he had no memory of their night together. He laughed whenever she brought it up, saying he’d been only gone for four days and already his wife had missed him so much she had dreamt the whole episode. Alina didn’t know why he was lying. She felt irritated by the way he was treating her but she learned it was pointless to bring it up.

He made love to her again but it was never like that.

Never like that one perfect night.

* * *

 

She named her baby Aleksander.

Mal didn’t like the name she picked out for the baby. He said it was too common. It was the name of kings and paupers alike. Couldn’t she have picked something more unique? Couldn’t she have named the baby after him? She shook her head.

“His name is Aleksander.”

Her boy was only two days old. From the moment he had come into the world, he had spent all his time sleeping and feeding. Alina swaddled him in her arms, watching his little mouth suckle idly as he slept, no doubt dreaming of his mother’s breast, the only thing that was familiar to him.

She felt a connection to little Aleks that she didn’t feel with anyone else. Perhaps it was because he had made his home in her womb for nine months. He had lived there peacefully, listening to his mother’s voice as she spoke to him, telling him stories of flying ships and ice dragons. He had kicked with glee whenever Nikolai came to visit, bringing his mother candied almonds and tales that made her laugh. He had loved his warm home so much, he was born a whole two weeks late.

But now he was here in the world and the world was in her arms. She kissed little Aleks on the forehead, feeling for the first time since she had lost her power that she had something in her life to call her own.

* * *

A week after little Aleks opened his eyes and Alina realized she would never be able to look at him again, the orphanage received a strange visitor.

He said his name was Eryk Morevna and he had come for the girl in the window.

Alina shuffled down the stairs to the sitting room, baby in her arms, and stopped dead in her tracks.

“I knew I would find you here,” he said, voice cool as cut-glass. “Where else would be but keeping house for your tracker?”

“Y-You.”

The Darkling was no longer wearing his _kefta_. He was dressed in fine clothes, but not Grisha clothes. She could have passed him on the street and not realized who he was if it weren’t for his unusually handsome features. His cold grey eyes cut from her face to the bundle in her arms.

In an instant, she had her answers. She knew immediately what needed to be done and what he had come for. Of course it had been the Darkling that had visited her that night. He had come wearing Mal's face. Of course her baby had inherited his eyes. Of course he had faked his death like he had done a thousand times before. She stared hard at the edges of his figure, praying to the saints he was real and not a pigment of her imagination, for her sake and for the sake of her baby.

“I named him after you,” she said when he didn’t say anything. “He has your eyes.”

Alina couldn’t read his expression but he was a master at hiding his thoughts. He didn’t ask to see the baby or even hold him. Instead, he nodded towards the stairs.

“Where is your tracker?”

She hesitated only for a moment. She knew what had come to do even she didn’t entirely agree with it. Still, she knew this was the only way forward.

“He’s in the woods. Hunting.”

He nodded once. “Pack your things. The coach is waiting.” And then, as if he was fighting with himself for a moment, he glanced down at the bundle in her arms. “I will hold him.”

Alina carefully passed the bundle into his arms, knowing full well that she was handing him what was most precious to her in the entire world. She glanced up at the Darkling but he was peering at little Aleks, expression unreadable.

She packed a single suitcase, half of it full of baby clothes. When she placed the pitiful luggage in the back of the coach and returned to the living room, the Darkling was still peering at the baby. Alina’s breath caught in her throat as she saw her baby’s chubby little fist was wrapped around the Darkling’s index finger.

“He likes you,” she told him.

His head snapped up, as if he’d been caught stealing cookies. He handed little Aleks back to her and was suddenly all business again.

“Show me where the tracker is.”

 

Mal was setting a rabbit trap when they found him. He saw them approaching and stood up immediately, eyes wide in horror. He pointed his finger at the Darkling, mouth hanging open.

“I’m leaving you, Mal,” Alina told him. “And I’m taking the baby with me.”

Mal didn’t seem to have heard her at first. He was still staring at the Darkling like he had three heads. Alina had to repeat herself again until he finally registered what she was saying.

“You’re taking our baby to run off with him? He’s insane! Alina, just go back inside and---”

“You’re not the father, Mal.”

The words hung in the air, ringing in Mal’s ears long after they had left Alina’s mouth. He had already known on some level that the baby wasn’t his. Grey eyes were rare and he had only ever known one other person with those eyes.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” said the Darkling, stepping towards Mal. “It’s over.”

Mal laughed, a hysterical sort of sound. “You don’t have a right to her.”

“Neither do you.”

The Darkling moved so quickly that hardly anyone saw the glint of the knife as he plunged into the boy’s heart. Mal wretched his mouth open in silent agony as the Darkling watched the light leave his eyes.

“You should have stayed dead, tracker.”

As Alina watched Mal crumple to the ground for the second time, she didn’t feel the pain she once felt on the Fold. Instead, the last invisible fetter that had been holding her back her whole life shattered completely and she inhaled a breath of fresh air.

She was free at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this has been incredibly cathartic. Please comment and let me know your thoughts!!! <3


End file.
